Kelly Meding - Another Kind of Dead

I battled the agony and hit the hardwood floor in a wet, tangled heap, with Wyatt on top of me. Tremors raced up and down my body. I coughed and cried out when it sent daggers of pain through my head. Wyatt rolled away. I curled in tight, arms around my knees, eyes shut, desperate to balance myself again. Just focused on breathing steadily and staying whole when my entire body wanted to shatter.

Wyatt’s soothing voice was in my ear, his hand pressed between my shoulder blades. I let his touch center me and draw me away from the fury of the storm. A clap of thunder broke directly over the house. I jumped, then slowly sat up.

We were about where I’d expected, in the corner of a room that had changed drastically since we’d left. The couch was on its side, shoved lengthwise against the front door. The bedroom dresser created a similar barrier over one of the windows. Deep scores in the wood floor marked the path of the refrigerator from kitchen to living room, and it stood against the other window. A blanket-covered lump was by the couch. The bedroom mattress was laid out against the wall by the open bedroom door and held a second blanket-covered lump, and two blood-covered people bore down on us.

“Not that I’m ungrateful for the rescue attempt,” Kismet said, a deep bruise coloring her left temple and both eyes red, swollen, “but I’m guessing your car is in as great a shape as mine?” She looked weary, strained, ready to be bowled over by the gentlest breeze.

“Engine’s crushed,” Wyatt replied. “What the hell happened?”

She offered her hand; he took it and was pulled to his feet. Milo offered me his, face pinched and pale, right forearm patched with a red-stained dish towel. I accepted his help, struggling to stand. My vision darkened briefly, and I blinked it away. Brown hair poked out of the blanket lump tucked onto the mattress—Felix. My attention flickered to the other lump and the dark stains soaking through the blanket. My stomach roiled at the strong odor of blood.

“We got here about forty-five minutes ago, right before the rain started,” Kismet said. “David explained what was going on, where you three had gone—Wait.” She looked around. “He said the shape-shifter was with you.”

“He was,” I said. So David had told her the details of our plan. Just great.

She nodded as though my two words explained everything. “We got the trickster secured in my vehicle. Milo was closing up the cabin. The rest of us were in the yard. The hounds attacked out of nowhere. We didn’t know they were there until one jumped on Felix.” She cast a look over her shoulder, at her wounded Hunter. “Our bullets didn’t affect them much, so we retreated to the cabin. David covered us while Milo and I dragged Felix inside.…”

Milo took over the story where she fumbled for words, fuming as he relived the incident. “The hounds were going after the cars, so we thought we’d have time. I could hear the trickster screaming in the SUV, but we couldn’t get to him.”

The trickster was dead, which meant his enisi was no longer a useful hostage.

“The hounds each took David by a leg. We got half of him inside.” Milo blanched. “He died pretty fast.”

A thick lump stuck in my throat. “Felix?”

“He’s hurt bad. They shredded his back all to hell, and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Milo inhaled sharply, his eyes gleaming. “The hounds were breaking the windows and trying the door. The bastards knew what they were doing, too, because we spent all our ammunition missing them. Gina and I barricaded ourselves as best we could.”

“No cell service,” Kismet said. “The landline is out, too. Every once in a while, they’ll hit a wall to remind us they’re outside.”

“They destroyed all the cars,” Wyatt said. “They knocked ours into a tree.”

Milo gave me a pensive look. “Good thing you’ve got your little teleporting trick, huh?”

I didn’t feel so lucky. Another Hunter was dead—worse still, he’d been my number one suspect. “Kismet, did you report the apprehension of the trickster before the attack?”

“No.”

“You didn’t test the landline?”

“No.”

David had to have used it to call Kismet, so it must have been tampered with afterward. Were the hounds that smart? Or had David really been playing us, setting Kismet’s team up to die, giving Axon to the hounds on a platter? Had the hounds turned on him by accident?

Was I grasping at fucking straws?

“So no one else knew you were coming up here?” I asked. “And no one except David knew about the trickster?”

“Tybalt knew we were coming here, but not about the trickster.”

Tybalt knew.… Nope. I derailed that line of doubt before it even began. No fucking way. “How long do you think it’ll take him to worry?”

“Morning, maybe. He’ll probably call in and see if my location is on the books. When it’s not, he might alert someone.”

“Might.” Less than twelve hours to find Thackery. “I can’t sit here overnight and hope on might.”

“No shit,” Milo snapped. “Felix needs a hospital, or he’s going to die.”

Shame silenced me. Two lives hinged on a very small time frame.

“How are you for weapons?” Wyatt asked.

My hands flew to my waist. At some point, I’d lost the roofie gun. Perfect.

“We have three guns but no ammo,” Kismet said. “Two hunting knives of ours, plus a few different knives from the kitchen. I found a shotgun in the closet, no shells. Everything else is in what’s left of the car.” And every Handler’s official vehicle had a hidden cache of weapons. A cache we needed—and soon.

“Is it just the two hounds?” Wyatt asked.

“From what we can tell, yes.”

As if they knew we were discussing them, a heavy body slammed against the front door, shuddering the sofa. Kismet jumped, as on-edge as I’ve ever seen her. A groan rang out over the steady pounding of rain on the roof. Milo bolted to the mattress. He crouched next to his friend and took his hand, speaking too softly to hear. I didn’t envy him the fear and anguish of watching a beloved partner die—emotions with which I was all too familiar.

“There’s no attic in this place?” I asked. “Nowhere else useful things could be stored?”

Wyatt shook his head. “It’s an out-of-season hunting cabin that was closed up until fall when we brought you here.”

I clenched my fists, then winced as the healing bones in my right wrist protested the action with white-hot shrieks. The bandage was soaked, my clothes were soaked, Wyatt was soaked, and we were all royally screwed.

“What happened to you two?” Kismet asked.

Wyatt fielded the question, filling her in loudly enough for Milo to hear. I knelt next to him. Felix’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. His lips were pressed so hard they were white. Pain creased his forehead and furrowed his brow, and he squeezed Milo’s hand so tight I expected to hear bones snap. Above the pallor, two roses had sprouted on his cheeks. Sweat beaded on his skin. I gently pressed the back of my left hand to one of those roses of color—hot. Not good.

“Guess if that was you, you’d be healing by now,” Milo whispered. The words would have stung had there been any ire in his voice, but I heard only sorrow and didn’t reply.

“Wait a minute,” Kismet said once Wyatt reached the part where we’d fled the city. “You think David Moreau, who found his Handler’s dead body a week ago and who is lying on the floor in pieces right now, set you up?”

“It’s a theory, Gina,” Wyatt replied. “You said you didn’t find out about our plan until David told you, and you didn’t call anyone to inform them, and I believe you. He’s the only person—”